


You are a runner and I am my father’s son.

by Kaesteranya



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesteranya/pseuds/Kaesteranya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner or later, we're going to stop repeating ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You are a runner and I am my father’s son.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for June 6, 2009, which references the title of a song by Wolf Parade. Spoilers apply, especially if you take a particular path after the Landsmeet.

  
They come together right after the coronation, when he’s stepping out of the throne room and away from the stifling crowd of nobles and supporters and naysayers that have assembled to watch him become king – crash together, really, because he just manages to turn down one corner before he’s dragged off by a slender and surprisingly strong arm into one of the many shadowed enclaves of the corridor, closed off by the curtains and drapery.

  
“Mm. What I would do to get you out of this armor.”

  
The purr of Zevran’s voice in his ear brings about an entirely new level of discomfort and need. Alistair doesn’t need to feel the way the assassin’s fingers trace the intricate patterns etched unto the metalwork of his breastplate to know what it’s like to have them on his skin. This isn’t the first time. Not by far.

  
“Might I remind you that this really isn’t the place or the time?”

  
He meant it to come out snappish and irritated, not thin as a reed and breaking under the stress of too much want, all at once. Zevran only laughs, soft and quiet, then moves, fitting his body against Alistair’s own with easy familiarity.

  
“Is that an invitation to break camp and tumble about in a tent?”

  
“It is an attempt to remind you about common sense and decency.”

  
“Just an attempt, is it? Then I must work to change your mind.”

  
And there was a comeback waiting in the wings right there, sharp and snappish and probably capable of saving Alistair a little dignity, but they’re kissing and Zevran’s fingers are doing a little dance in his hair that sends shivers through his scalp and down his spine and it takes everything that he has just to keep himself from drowning in it.

  


* * *

  


How they got from making out in the corridor to making love in his bedchambers without being spotted by anybody, he will never know. He wonders if he should care more about it, given the fact that he is king of all Ferelden, but it’s hard to, especially after spending the last few hours quite occupied with another man’s mouth/skin/cock/ass.

  
He wonders, as well, if he should be worried about the fact that there is something different about the way Zevran is sliding off of his bed and moving about to find his clothes. He never stays after they’ve fucked – it was always about going off to be somewhere else the moment he had had his fun. Off to somewhere else, or to crawl into the bed of the leader of their old party instead. This should have felt like every other time.

  
“You’re leaving.”

  
The words came before Alistair was even aware of them, before he even knew what he was actually saying.

  
“Are you surprised?”

  
“No.” A pause. “But you’re not coming back this time.”

  
“I might. It depends on how far and how much I shall have to run. As it is,” Zevran adds with a light chuckle, “I doubt you will appreciate having Antivan Crows swooping down upon your castle because of me.”

  
For shame: it’s another moment when witty repartee and a bit more of his glib tongue would have been perfect. He says nothing instead, and Zevran, of course, picks up on his silence.

  
“Give me a look like that again, my king,” the assassin says, topping it with a kiss right before he slips away, “and I will most definitely have to return to see you.”

  
“I won’t count on it,” Alistair says later, to a closed door.  



End file.
